


A Goddess in Capri

by sphinxvictorian



Category: The Moon-Spinners
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphinxvictorian/pseuds/sphinxvictorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the adventure of the Moon Spinners in Crete, Nikky Ferris is back in the Mediterranean and finds that adventure and romance complicate her newly found independence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Goddess in Capri

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seren_ccd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seren_ccd/gifts).



> A very big thank you to nightmistress for her last-minute beta services! You rock!!

Nikky Ferris stepped carefully down the ramp of the ferry onto the pavement of the harborside. She hitched her duffle bag higher onto her shoulder as she glanced around, looking for the next available taxi to take her up the hill to the town. It wasn’t that she couldn’t walk, but she wasn’t in the mood. The boat from Sorrento had been decidedly smelly and crowded, and she was wobbly from the rough water they’d encountered. 

This was her first time in Capri, and she wasn’t sure what she’d find. Her aunt had been there some years ago, collecting folksongs, and had told her all the usual tourist pitfalls to avoid, but Nikky wasn’t sure she wanted to avoid them. She’d gotten even more stubborn and pig-headed, her aunt was fond of saying. Nikky grinned and went up to a rattletrap little Fiat sedan, with “Taxi” written in crooked letters across the doors. The smell of a strong cigarette made her cough, as she got into the back. The tired eyes of the driver met hers in the rear view mirror.

“What hotel, signorina?”

Nikky decided to try her Italian on him. “Per favore, per l'ostello della gioventù.”

“Si, si, youth hostel.”

He started the car, and the motor was much more responsive than the rattletrap appearance had suggested. With much horn honking and maneuvering, they started up the steep curving road towards the town square.

Even in her tired and somewhat nauseous state, the view out the window was stunning. All the clichés one always hears came into Nikky’s head as she looked out over craggy rocks and cliffs emerging from a jewel-like sea under an azure sky and houses clinging to the sides of hills like many-colored birds. Soon they were at the town square, where the taxi driver stopped for a moment at her request, so she could get her bearings. Then at her prompting he headed the taxi to the left and then up a small hill. A tiny path led away from the paved road, and at the head of it the taxi stopped.

“Youth hostel, signorina.”

“Grazie,” Nikky said, as she handed over the lire for the fare.

The tiny dirt path had no paving stones, and it sloped down a bit, so it was tough going. She struggled along, hitching up first her duffle bag and then her rucksack on one shoulder or the other. A few more yards and the path gave way to a little circular patch of gravel inside a low pink stucco wall, which had the International Youth Hostel sign on it. Nikky stepped through the opening onto the gravel and a door in the large house in front of her opened suddenly.

“Chiuso! Chiuso! Closed!” came a male voice from inside, then the door slammed shut.

Nikky humphed, dropped her bags on the gravel, and stood with her hands on her hips, assessing the situation. The house was also pink stucco, with faded green shutters on all the windows, most of them open. The door that had just opened and closed was also faded green, and there were two bedraggled bushes in pots to either side of the entrance steps.

“Well, I say, that’s not really very friendly,” she said, out loud. She repeated it again, louder, just in case the rude person inside might be listening.

There was no response from behind the door or windows, so Nikky decided to be courageous. She stalked up the three steps to the door and knocked on it. When she got no response, she knocked louder. When she still heard nothing within, she used her fist to pound on the rickety piece of wood, rather hoping it would break, so at least she could get in where it was cooler.

Finally, a window opened right above the door and a young man with dark curls and a scowl on his face poked his head out.

“The hostel is closed, signorina! Va via!” He made a jerking motion with his head to indicate she should leave.

“I shan’t go away. Besides, if the hostel was closed, why didn’t they say so at the hostel in Sorrento, before I came away?”

The man’s face brightened suddenly, and he shook his head. “No, signorina, mi scusi, the hostel is closed now, will open in two hours.”

Nikky broke into a laugh. “Oh, honestly, is that all you meant? Well, you might have said so! You made it sound as if it was closed forever. What a relief! So, can I leave my bag here at least? I don’t want to be dragging it all about for two hours.”

“Si, si,” he said, smiling now as he nodded his head vigorously, “But you have to put it in the big wooden box, the one with the old lock on it, there, to your left.”

“Oh, thanks so much. Will it be safe there, do you think? Nothing terribly valuable, but I’d miss it just the same. It’s been all over Europe with me!”

The young man’s scowl came back. “Signorina! This is a safe place. I would not tell you to put something somewhere that was not safe.”

“Okay, okay! Sorry, didn’t mean to offend.”

He nodded and drew his head back inside, closing the window.

Nikky inspected the wooden box that he’d indicated. It was just a very large crate, tacked together with a few nails and hinges for the lid. The lock was indeed old and rusted open, but the box was clean and dry inside, so she dragged her duffle bag over and heaved it inside. Really, she simply had to learn to send more of her souvenirs home!

Free of her incumberance, Nikky sat for a moment on the low wall and pulled out the map of Capri she’d gotten in Sorrento. She found the youth hostel and saw that as she’d seen on the way up, the town square was just down the hill. Hunger pangs started up as she read the description of the cafes in the square, so she checked her supply of lire and headed up the path and back down the steep little road.

The square was very busy with all the tourists from the boat, as well as the townspeople and other visitors. Nikky saw that she had many cafes to choose from, but a quick consultation of her guide book told her which was the more reasonable. At Café Giorgio, she found a seat at a table that appeared to be free. 

The waiter appeared and took her order for a limonata and a salad, and then vanished again. She pulled her sunglasses down on to her nose and leaned her head back, feeling the warm sun on her face.

“Excuse me, miss, I was…Nikky?! Nikky Ferris!”

Nikky started, sat up, and looked towards the voice. Her mouth gaped open like a fish for a moment and then she immediately closed it. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. What was he doing here? He was supposed to still be in England.

“Mark? Mark Camford? What on earth? Why are you here?”

“Oh, well, good to see you too, brat!” He sat down across from her, grinning like the cat who swallowed the cream. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m on my gap year travels, not that it’s any of your business.” Nikky was really very annoyed to see him here. She’d thought that whole sad business was long over. They’d been so happy together in those few days in Heraklion after the Madame Habib adventure, and they’d sworn to continue their romance once they were back in England.

But as so often happens with romance born of adventure, she thought sadly, it just all fell apart in the cold reality of an English winter. Mark got his old job back, with a rise in salary, but also a rise in responsibilities and duties. They’d make dates and he’d have to break them time and again. And she wasn’t much better. She was taking exams and trying to decide her future, and there was just no time for romance. 

She tried to end it amicably, with a nice homemade dinner, that went horribly wrong, because she was a lousy cook, and always had been. Mark got angry and so did she and they both said some very raw and rotten things to each other. That was the end of that, and she hoped they’d never see each other again.

Now here he was, Mr. Insouciance, grinning across the table at her, as though nothing had happened.

“Well, what are you doing here?” she asked again.

“I believe it’s commonly called a vacation. The office was getting me down, and I’d had enough, so I told Mr. Rice I needed to get away, and he agreed.”

“Just like that?” Nikky scoffed. “As I remember, Mr. Rice wouldn’t give his grandmother the time to have a cup of tea!”

Mark gave a short cynical laugh. “True enough. He agreed with me, as I said, that I needed to get away, but he said it would have to be permanently.”

“Awful man. And after all you did to recover those jewels, he should have bent over backwards to keep you on. Why, he should have made you a partner by now!”

“Nikky, honestly, you still think the world has to be fair, after all this time? It’s 1966, open your eyes. The world is changing faster than we can keep up with it, it doesn’t have time to be fair.”

“Don’t you talk down to me, Mark Camford! I’ve been in the world just as much as you now, and I know exactly how much it’s changing. That’s the point, don’t you see? It’s got to change for the good, somehow, doesn’t it? So the more we fight against the Mr. Rices of this world, the more it will change.”

Nikky had meant to be stand-offish, but then Mark always did this to her - got her dander up, got her thinking and talking and arguing. It was one of the things she’s always loved about him. But they weren’t together any more, came the voice of reality in her mind; she had to put an end to this conversation and move to another table.

She stood up, looking for an empty seat at any other table, but they were all filled.

“Sorry, Nikky, we’re stuck with each other. You’ve already ordered and I have too, so we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

She sat down again, a picture of dignity and poise spoiled by nearly upsetting the small bud vase on the table as she jostled it.

She felt Mark’s eyes on her and she pushed her hair back behind her ears and straightened her spine, looking anywhere but at him, and wishing that the food would arrive soon.

“Seriously, Nikky. I’m sorry for all that I said the last time we met. I was completely out of line-“

“Oh, Mark, let’s not go over it all again. It’s all, all over now, we’ve moved on with our lives, let’s say no more about it.”

He started to argue, but then just shrugged as the waiter brought their food. They chatted perfunctorily while they ate. He asked where she was staying and she told him, then asked where he was.

“At my Uncle George’s villa. It’s terribly posh, he lives here full-time. It’s a great place. You should come and see it. Better yet, you should give over the austerity of the hostel and come and stay. He’s got plenty of room—“

“Oh, I don’t think so, do you? Besides the hostel is a really great location, with a wonderful view—“

“Right, right, I get the picture. But the offer’s open, should you need it. Let me give you the address.” He grabbed her guidebook from her open rucksack and scribbled the address on the flyleaf, then tucked the book back in its place.

“I shall be just fine, thank you, Mark.” She stood up then, and carefully counted out the lire for her meal. “Now I have to be off. Have a lovely rest of your stay.” 

She wended her way gracefully enough through the tables and refused to look back to see if he was watching her go. She walked along the street as though she knew exactly where she was going, until she was sure she was out of sight of the café, and then ducked into a side street and leaned against a white stucco wall.

She closed her eyes for a moment, mentally cursing her luck or the Fates or whatever had brought Mark into her life at just this moment. Her travels were going so well, she was really beginning to feel her independence as she found her way more and more competently from town to town through France and Italy. It had been a month, and she had managed to make her money last and hadn’t had to write to her aunt for any more as yet. Not that it wouldn’t immediately be forthcoming; Aunt Frances was everything Nikky’s parents weren’t, adventurous, accomplished, cultured and above all, encouraging. Her parents were all wrapped up in their big house and their horses and their hunting and shooting and fishing, etc. and spent absolutely no time thinking about Nikky beyond making sure she didn’t embarrass them at parties.

Dismissing thoughts of her unsupportive parents, Nikky pulled her guidebook out of her rucksack and figured out where the market stalls were.

She bought some bread and cheese and fruit and bottles of limonata to take back to the hostel with her. She also spotted a little gift store that had some really lovely scarves, so she bought two, one for herself with a pattern of pink roses against a black background and one for Aunt Frances that had a Roman mosaic pattern printed on it.

The sun was getting lower and a look at her watch showed her that the hostel should be open by now. She took a more indirect route back to the Via Falsen, just so that she didn’t run into Mark, and soon found herself back on the dirt path leading to the hostel. 

The door was open now, revealing a darkened interior. She heaved her bag out of the wooden box and went inside. The vestibule was very clean, with white walls and a counter built across one corner of the square room, behind which stood the young man she’d encountered earlier. He was all smiles now, and really not a bad-looking sort, she thought.

“Greetings, signorina. I am glad you made it back. I am Mario Tosti, and I run the hostel here. You are sadly the only young woman staying with us tonight, but that means you will have the women’s room all to yourself.” He winked at her then, and she hoped she was only imagining the hint of a leer in his smile. 

“Oh, well, I’ll make the best of it, I’m sure. Where is the kitchen, please?”

“Si, si, I will show you after you’ve signed in. You have your hostel card?”

Nikky produced the card from her wallet and signed the hostel book. After she paid him the small amount for the three days, Mario lifted the hinged end of the counter and stepped through, deftly closing it behind him. As he led her down a hall that ran along the front of the house, she noticed that in a few niches on the left wall stood some really lovely sculptures. They looked Roman to Nikky’s untrained eyes, and probably copies, but they could have been authentic for all she knew. They definitely stood out from the somewhat dingy and spartan surroundings. One of the sculptures, just at the end of the hall, she noticed, was a bit more detailed and really did look quite ancient. It was a statue of a woman, fully dressed in Roman style, with a veil over her head, which was crowned. Nikky stopped to gaze at it for a moment, mesmerized by the serenity of the woman’s face.

Mario noticed she was no longer following him, turned around and gave a little involuntary gasp.

“Oh, signorina, you must not notice our silly little plaster sculptures. They are just to brighten this drab little place. I have a cousin in Sorrento who makes them, and he gave me a few for very little money. I place them here for decoration. Now, here is the kitchen,” he said, flinging open the door at the end of the hallway.

His manner was overly nonchalant as he said all this, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and the statue. Nikky felt a prickle at the back of her neck. He certainly seemed anxious that she believe him. But she shrugged her shoulders and told herself she was being ridiculous, as she followed him into the kitchen.

 

Nikky opened the French doors that led out onto the balcony from the empty women’s room. The balcony wasn’t wide but it was the length of the front of the house. Below the balcony, the hillside sloped gently down to a small sandy beach. She thought she might try to figure out if there might be a path that led down there the next day.

The full moon made everything bright as day, and glittered on the water, reminding her of the silver lamé gown that her aunt had bought her for her first formal dance. Her mother had forbidden her to wear it, declaring it far too-grown up for a sixteen-year-old. Frances had declined to argue, but simply told Nikky later to pack it away and wear it the first chance she got when she was at university.

Thinking of her aunt and the moon also brought back memories of the adventures in Crete two years ago. Perhaps recalling Stratos and his felonious plans caused her to be suspicious of Mario and his behavior. 

Whatever it was, Nikky found herself taking the one movable piece of furniture in the room, a desk chair, and wedging it underneath the doorknob.

She started to think how proud Mark would be of her precautions, and then dismissed it with a shake of her head. She didn’t need Mark Camford’s approval, for heaven’s sake. 

She had already visited the WC and brushed her teeth, so she put on her pajamas and unfolded her travel bedsheet on the bottom bunk and climbed into it. The thin wool blanket was too hot for such a sultry evening, so she left it folded at the bottom of the bed. She was soon fast asleep.

A loud noise awoke her, seemingly not long after she’d closed her eyes. She raised herself on an elbow and looked toward the door. Sure enough, the doorknob was turning and the chair scraped as someone tried to push the door open. The chair held though, and the someone, Mario, Nikky thought, crept away.

That was it, she would leave as soon as it was light. There were probably rooms to be had at one of the cheaper hotels, and she wasn’t going to stay in this place one more night. She knew there was something not quite right about Mario and his “silly little plaster statue”. Adventure was not why she’d come to Capri. She wanted beauty and peace and Classical architecture and Blue Grottos, not intrigue and crime. She told herself this at any rate, but there was a delicious thrill to the way her heart was pounding. She got up and locked the French doors onto the balcony as an extra precaution and went back to bed.

At dawn’s first light, she dressed and packed up her things, eating a bit of bread and cheese for her breakfast, though she longed for a good cup of strong coffee to stop her yawns. She carefully removed the chair from under the doorknob, and set it down as quietly as she could back in its place.

Then just as quietly, she opened the door and slipped out into the corridor. She had tucked her sandals into an outside pocket on her rucksack, so they wouldn’t clatter on the bare boards of the corridor or the tiled stairs.

Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped, looking down the corridor with all the statues. She suddenly had an idea. She set down her duffle bag and dug in her rucksack for her camera. Then she pussyfooted her way to that last statue and took a quick snap of it. She worried at the loudness of the shutter noise in the silent hall, but after pausing and listening for any stirrings, she felt safe to continue her escape.

She was doing quite well, Nikky thought proudly, hoisting her duffle back onto her shoulder, and went to open the door to the courtyard. But her luck gave out. The latch was very tricky, and even though she’d figured out how to unlock it, it still wouldn’t come open. She tugged and tugged, bruising her fingertips against the tough iron latch. Finally it gave, but with a tremendous clang and thump. She froze, again listening for stirrings, and this time she heard a door open up on the upper floor and the sound of footsteps.

At the sound, Nikky flung open the courtyard door and fled out and up the dirt path, her bare feet suffering from the sharp pebbles of the gravel and twigs on the path. She didn’t dare stop to put on her sandals until she got completely out of sight of the hostel. She sat on a round boulder at the top of the path, where it met Via Falsen, and shoved her sandals onto her bruised feet. Then she hurried down into the town. 

Only one café was open as yet, and she stopped to sit down at one of the tables. A sleepy-eyed waitress appeared a few moments later, and Nikky ordered coffee and a sweet bun and looked at the listings for cheap hotels in her guidebook. There were a few, and after an hour or so and a few more cups of coffee, she felt equal to the task of finding new accommodation.

Again, her luck was bad, it seemed. Every one of the cheap hotels was filled to the last room. Nikky checked her small store of traveler’s checks and made quick mental calculations and decided to try the more expensive places. She could always wire to Aunt Frances for a loan, though she was trying not to do that too often, for the sake of her newfound independence. 

But every hotel on the island seemed to be full, and she was completely baffled by this, until finally one of the hotel receptionists informed her that there was an important symposium on Classical art history being given in town and with all of the tourists, plus the art historians and their spouses, etc, not a room was to be had. 

Nikky was at her wit’s end. She had opened her guidebook again, in a vain attempt to find some answer to her predicament, when she saw the address of Mark’s uncle on the flyleaf, where Mark had insisted on writing it down for her.

“Oh, bother,” she said, under her breath. She really didn’t want to go cap in hand to Mark, especially after her big show of independence and worldliness at the café the day before. But, short of pitching her (non-existent) tent in the grounds of Tiberius’ Villa Jovis, she was really out of options, and she was not ready to give up and return to Sorrento.

She stood in the town square for a moment, thinking, then she made her decision. After all, this was not a situation she’d created. How was she to have known that the youth hostel would be run by some shady character? The Hostel Association was supposed to make sure their staff members were trustworthy, she thought. She’d had no other trouble at any of the other hostels she’d stayed at.

And was it her fault that the hotels were full of art historians and tourists? No, indeed, it wasn’t. So really, why shouldn’t she take advantage of an offer, kindly meant? It wasn’t as if it would mean any sort of obligation on Mark’s part. She wouldn’t owe him anything, he wasn’t that sort of man, thank goodness. So, having decided her course, she dug out her map and found the quickest way to get there.

Even the quick way took her a half hour or so of climbing twisted roads, some paved, some cobbled, some dirt. She rather wished she could have left her duffle bag somewhere else, but couldn’t think of where. 

Finally, she arrived at a rather ornate iron gate, hung in an arched concrete and stucco gateway, painted a dusky blue. On both pillars was the number 45 on individual tiles, and the name, Villa Camfordia was painted above the numbers on the left pillar.

To one side of the gate was a small metal box with a button and a speaker set into it. Nikky followed the directions of the little sign next to it, and pushed the button.

The speaker crackled into life. “Si?” 

Nikky pushed the button again, and said, loudly, “Si, io sono Nikky Ferris, un’ amica di Mark Camford. È lui lì?”

“Oh, yes, indeed, Miss Ferris,” the light tenor voice came back, in posh English tones. “Mark did say you might be along. Do come through, my dear, down the pebbled path and through the knotwork garden, there’s a good girl.”

“Right, thanks.”

There was a tiny buzz and the gate swung open as the electric lock disengaged. Very posh, she thought, and pushed on through. The pebbled path was actually a long series of shallow steps that wound down through a beautiful hillside garden. At the bottom, she found the more formal knotwork garden that her greeter had indicated and she stepped carefully along the path, trying not to bump the low hedges with her bag.

The villa was lovely, white stucco, with an immaculate red-tiled roof and sculptures dotted through the surrounding gardens. A courtyard lay just beyond a graceful loggia and Nikky stepped through on to the terracotta tiles, just as a dapper little man appeared at the other side of the courtyard.

“Ah, my dear Miss Ferris, do come in and divest yourself of your burdens. Goodness, child, did you come by foot? But how intrepid of you! Then, you young people, so vital, so active. Mark will be so sorry not to have been here when you arrived, he is even now striding about the Capri countryside like the young Apollo that he is.”

Having made sure that her welcomer had finished finally, Nikky did drop her bags at her feet and push rather ineffectually at her disheveled hair.

Then she stuck out her hand, “Good morning, you must be Mark’s uncle.”

“Oh, goodness, yes of course I am, dear child. What a ninny I am! I’m Mark’s Uncle Charles, to be sure. I do rattle on so, you mustn’t mind me, really. So have you come to stay with us for a day, a week, a month, a year?”

“Gosh, I don’t want to be a bother. It’s just that all the hotels are filled to the rafters, what with the symposium and tourists and all—“

“Oh, my dear, yes, of course. But you’re no bother. Just a slip of a girl, you shan’t put us out at all. Plenty of room, plenty of wonderful food, cooked by my own darling Luigi, and all the entertainments you could wish for. It will be so wonderful for Mark to have a little friend to keep him company.”

It was funny to hear Mark talked about as though he were about nine. Nikky was sure it annoyed him no end. She smiled a little to herself at the thought.

Soon she was being introduced to Luigi, Uncle Charles’ cook, butler, and possibly something a bit more. Rather like Aunt Frances’ friend Ronnie, the theatrical designer, Nikky realized. She’d always loved Ronnie, so she felt right at home with Uncle Charles and his Luigi. 

Her room was positively fairy-tale like. Huge soft bed, with a canopy, lovely colorful throw rugs with floral patterns and a polished wood floor. The house was only one story, so no balcony, but she had her own private little terrace outside her room, with a low wall around it and a little tile-topped table and with a couple of wicker chairs. She felt a little strange with her messy old duffle bag in such splendor, but she was soon unpacked, and she found her least wrinkled skirt and blouse to change into for mid-morning tea.

As she came into the courtyard she heard voices, and recognized one of them as Mark’s. Oh, bother, she thought, I’d hoped not to have to confront him so soon. Gosh, but won’t he be smug about this! The thought took away a bit of the shine from her new surroundings.

But she determined to outface him, and walked into the courtyard with a nonchalance she almost felt.

“Nikky!! Uncle Charles said you’d showed up! How marvelous! Told you that old hostel wasn’t worth the lire you paid for it. Isn’t the villa amazing?”

“Yes, Mark, it’s quite lovely, and I’m so grateful to your uncle for allowing me to stay here, since all of the hotels are completely full. Otherwise I’d never have troubled him.”

Mark stood aside, revealing his uncle and another grey-haired man in a dark grey suit, rather taller than Uncle Charles, with a slight paunch. He appeared very nervous, but friendly enough. Mark introduced him as Mr. Farquhar of the British Museum.

“Oh, are you here for the symposium, Mr. Farquhar?” Nikky asked, politely, extending her hand.

“Yes, indeed, indeed, Miss Ferris, precisely, just so, the symposium, yes, quite right, quite right.” He gave her hand a rather limp shake and then turned back to Uncle Charles. 

“Now, then Charles, are you absolutely sure about the date on that Roman bust? It looks post-Republic to me…”

Mark sighed. “Best leave them to it, they’ll be on about statuary for hours, and I want my tea after all that clambering about.”

He led the way to a table on one side of the courtyard and pulled out a chair for her. She looked at it and then chose a different chair.

Mark gave a shrug. “Okay then, you’re really Miss Independence now, aren’t you? Well, good for you. From what you told me about your parents, you’re well out from under their nonsense. Traveling has done you a world of good, so to speak.”

“Yes, it has been good for me. I’m feeling so much more confident now, not that I was ever a shrinking violet. But I feel I’m getting a sense of myself now, out from under the parental yoke, and all. I’m glad it shows.” She felt herself unbending a bit. It was nice to have someone noticing her new and improved self.

“What have you got planned for the afternoon?” Mark asked, buttering a piece of bread.

“Hadn’t actually planned it, as yet. I was sort of thrown for a loop by all my running around this morning.”

“Yes, what happened there? Yesterday you were so content to stay at the hostel.”

“Well, it turns out that Mario, the hostel warden, is a complete cad and he tried to get into my room last night. At least I assume it was him, since I had the door blocked with a chair and no one called out to complain or ask to be let in. So as soon as I got up this morning, quite early, I left and never looked back. I tried all the hotels, but they were all full, so…”

“Nikky, are you sure this Mario was after you? Shall I go up there and have a word?”

“No, thanks, Mark. Not really needing a knight in shining armor today! Although, you know, there was something else weird yesterday. There’s a hallway leading to the kitchen, and all along it are these niches, with replicas of Roman or Greek statues in them.”

“That’s just bad interior design-“

“No, you idiot, listen. All of them were replicas, I think, except possibly the one at the end near the kitchen door. I’m no expert, of course, but it looked different, it really looked old and battered, not fake antique like the rest of them.”

“Well, as you say, you’re no expert, so it probably was just a better done fake than the rest,” Mark said.

“I thought that, too, at first, but then Mario saw me looking at it and he looked really flustered, and tried to pass them all off as cheap replicas and hurried me through to the kitchen.”

“That does seem a bit strange. But look, Nikky, it’s probably nothing. Maybe you were thinking of that stuff that happened on Crete, and you got spooked. But whatever happened, it’s nice to have you here. So what do you say we go and explore the Villa Jovis? It’s really very interesting.”

“Oh, all right, I suppose. But really, you needn’t feel you have to keep me amused, simply because I’m staying here.”

“Suit yourself, I’m going up there anyway, I just thought you might like to come along.”

Nikky had a sudden pang of guilt at being so hard on him. “Oh, sorry, Mark, I’m being a pill. Of course, I’ll come along. I haven’t got that many days here before I’m supposed to move on to Sicily, so I should make the most of it.”

Mark’s face brightened at this and he grabbed her hand and she followed him out into the bright afternoon sunshine. They were running up the path to the gate, when they met Mr. Farquhar coming down the path. 

“Ah, and where are you two charming young persons off to?”

“Villa Jovis, Mr. Farquhar.”

“Ah, delightful! Very splendid ruins they are too. Have a lovely time, children!”

He fluttered a hand at them as they passed by him. Nikky wondered how he’d gotten up to the gate, as she hadn’t noticed him leaving the courtyard.

Mark looked back at the man’s retreating form. “He’s a strange old bird. Uncle Charles only knows him through correspondence and wouldn’t have let him stay, I don’t think, if the hotels hadn’t been so full. Apparently, Farquhar waited too long to register.”

“Funny, that. He seems like such a correct sort to me. Not someone likely to forget to register for something so important, I would have thought,” Nikky said.

They spent the rest of the afternoon agreeably enough. The ruins were very overgrown, and not nearly as “splendid” as Farquhar had said they were. Plus, Mark insisted on telling her some of the horrible things that Tiberius was known to get up to. She kept telling him that she’d read quite enough about it in Mr. Graves’ scandalous book I, Claudius which she’d found in her aunt’s library. He ignored her, so she kept finding ways to slip away for a little peace behind a column or a bit of broken wall.

She snapped a lot of pictures and finally, as the sun was starting to go down, she suggested they should start back.

As they came out of the old iron gate onto the road, Nikky started to walk forward. Just then, a car came fast toward her. As she stood transfixed by the headlights for a second, the car accelerated and if she hadn’t thrown herself back at the last moment, she would have been hit. The car sped on past as though nothing had happened.

Mark, who had stopped to close the gate behind them, ran up to Nikky and knelt next to her where she sat stunned in the roadside grass.

“Nikky, are you all right?” His voice was tense with anger and fright. His hands were bruisingly tight on her shoulders, and he was staring hard at her, eyes blazing.

“I’m fine. Honestly, I’m okay, Mark, you can let go of me. A tiny bit shaken, I’ll admit, but otherwise fine.” She stood up, keeping an eye out for the car possibly coming back. She dusted off the seat of her skirt and picked up her rucksack. She checked to see that her camera was still in one piece, and then turned to Mark.

“There, see? All better. Let’s get back to the villa. I’m starving, and I’m sure Luigi has cooked something tasty.”

“Nikky, you’re not worried by the fact that a car just tried to run you down? Who it might have been, for instance?”

Of course, she was. Her mind was going a mile a minute trying to figure that out. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to get all fired up about it. She needed to think, and Mark going off half-cocked and running around the countryside was not going to help.

“Oh, Mark, they might not even have seen me, it’s getting dark after all. I’m sure it was just some kids or something. Now do come on, I want my dinner after all this excitement.”

Mark followed after her, silent at first. But soon he began speculating wildly about what had happened.

“What if it was that Mario? You said he was acting weirdly, perhaps he decided you weren’t to be trusted and he was following you.”

“No, not even a remote possibility,” Nikky answered, though she was actually entertaining a similar idea. Mario could have figured out where she was, or just seen her walking and in a split second, decided to do away with her. But why? Was it to do with that little statue? 

Another part of her brain was saying, “That’s it, you’re leaving. You don’t need adventure. You came here for peace and quiet, not another crazy person trying to kill you over something valuable.” She wanted to listen to that part, and run back to the villa, pack her bags and leave on the morning ferry. But the more stubborn part of her refused to be run off yet again by crazy treasure hunters. This was not going to be a repeat of Agios Georgios.

They got back to the villa and came down the path, only to hear some uproar coming from the courtyard. They hurried in and found Uncle Charles face to face with a man in a plain dark suit and fedora, arguing rather heatedly with him.

“My good man, I will not stand for such things being said about a guest in my house. Mr. Farquhar has a spotless reputation at the British Museum! He is a great scholar and a fine man, and I won’t hear any different!”

“Signor Camford, I am sorry, but there is no doubt in the matter. Signor Farquhar is a thief and a fraud, if indeed he is really Signor Farquhar at all. Have you ever met him before he came to your villa two days ago?”

Uncle Charles seemed to deflate a bit at that, and he stepped back. “Why, no, no, but I’ve no reason to doubt him. Have you looked at his passport?”

“Sadly, in these criminal times, passports are so easy to forge, so that would prove nothing, signor.”

Finally noticing that Mark and Nikky had come in, Uncle Charles came over to them. “Oh, my dears, my dears. It’s simply dreadful! Poor Mr. Farquhar! This policeman, Signor Cardini, seems to think that he’s done something criminal. Stolen a statue apparently, a very fine example of the Augustan period, a little figure of Hera. Probably a household god figure-“

Nikky had been listening to this and suddenly she interrupted, “But Mr. Camford, I’ve seen it. At least I think I have.” She then told him the whole story about the statues in the hostel corridor. “Could that be the one?” she asked, turning to Signor Cardini.

“I don’t know. It seems strange that it would be at the hostel, signorina.”

“Would a picture help? Because Mario was being so strange, I snapped a picture of the statue before I left this morning.”

“Do you have this picture now?” Cardini asked.

“I haven’t had the film developed yet, you see, but I’m happy to turn it over to you, if you like, I finished the roll.”

“Prego, signorina, that will be most helpful. Of course, we will return the camera and the rest of your photographs to you when we are done.”

“Thanks a lot.” Nikky said, handing him her camera.

After the policeman had left, having ascertained that no one there knew where Mr. Farquhar was at that moment, Uncle Charles sat on the sofa, looking quite drained. “Oh, my dears, my dears, what a to-do, what a to-do! I can’t believe that Mr. Farquhar had anything to do with any of this. He’s a bit eccentric, heaven knows, but I can’t see him as some sort of international art thief, can you? I mean, really, he just doesn’t have the demeanour of a thief, does he?”

“Well, he is a bit strange, uncle, but no, I’d never have pegged him as an art thief. You don’t have any of his books, do you? There might be an author picture on the back or something,” Mark said.

“Oh, why yes, yes I do, now that you mention it, Mark. In the library. I’ll go and fetch it, at once.”

“Let me, Mr. Camford,” Nikky offered. “Is it easy to find?”

“Yes, it’s in the stack of new books on my desk, my dear. I’d been meaning to read it, and then he rather sort of appeared, and I never thought to question that he might not be who he says he is. Goodness, Mark, that there are such criminal people in this world. It quite o’ercrows my spirit, it really does.”

Nikky went into the library, a spacious room that looked more as though it belonged in an English manor house than an Italian villa. The large carved desk sat next to the window, with many piles of books on it, but only one stack looked at all modern. She looked down the names of authors on the spines and found Mr. Farquhar’s near to the bottom. It was bit difficult to extricate, but she managed to do it without dumping the entire pile onto her foot.

Without looking at the back, she hurried back out to Mr. Camford and handed it to him.

He turned it over and let out a gasp. “Good heavens! It isn’t him! The policeman was right! Oh, I do hope the real Mr. Farquhar hasn’t been done away with. Horrible, horrible, oh most horrible!”

“Now, uncle, it’ll be all right. We’ll let the police know and meanwhile, you need a good stiff drink.” Mark went over to the drinks cart and poured his uncle a brandy.

His uncle downed it in a gulp and coughed, making a little moue of distaste. “Ugh, I must tell Luigi to stop buying that Italian brandy. I think his cousin makes it, and it’s really vile. But, I am the better for it, nonetheless. Thank you, my dear boy.”

Just then, Luigi appeared to say that dinner was ready.

After dinner, Mark took Nikky aside and said, “I don’t think we should tell uncle about the car thing. But you do realize it’s probably connected to all of this? You can’t still be thinking it was speeding teenagers!” 

“No, of course not, Mark. You’re right. I’ve already been thinking that it was probably Mario, or even more likely, Mr. Farquhar behind the wheel. How dreadful! We should really tell Signor Cardini about the car. I’ll ring him first thing in the morning. Or do you think he’ll still be at the office?”

“I doubt it. They take their time off seriously here, even the police. I’d call them tomorrow, as you said.”

Just then, Nikky yawned. “Oh, gosh, sorry. All that fresh air and excitement. I’m really exhausted. I’m off to bed. Oh, by the way, does your uncle always quote Shakespeare so much?”

“Only when he’s really upset, it’s one of his more adorable quirks, don’t you think?”

Nikky grinned. “Well, good night, Mark.”

“Night, Nikky. Sleep well.”

As Nikky got ready for bed, her mind was racing, trying to put together the different elements of the mystery that had presented itself. If Mr. Farquhar did steal that statue, and Mario had it, what was their 

connection? Why did Mario keep the statue in plain sight like that? Were they competitors or in it together?

For a while, she tried to get to sleep, but then she found herself thinking of Mark’s tense frightened eyes back at the Villa Jovis gate. The concern there had been unmistakable. Her brain told her it was just that 

Mark felt a certain friendship for her still, and naturally didn’t want to see her get hurt. But her heart (or something like it) was telling her he still cared for her, that there was something still there between them, and that Nikky was just denying it. “Protesting too much methinks,” Nikky found herself whispering, catching Mr. Camford’s quoting bug. 

With that she firmly settled herself down and soon fell asleep.

 

The next morning, she called Signor Cardini. He asked her to come down to the police station, rather than take her report over the phone.

Mark was going to come with her, but she insisted she’d be fine alone. They argued about it for a bit, and she finally compromised by agreeing to borrow Luigi’s scooter so she’d at least not be walking along the roads.

She arrived at the station intact, and Signor Cardini greeted her cordially.

“Now then, signorina, you have much to tell me, no?”

“Yes, I do.” She made her report about the car, and the picture on the back of Mr. Farquhar’s book. 

“I am relieved that you were not hurt, signorina! Most regrettable that you should have such an experience here, first Mario Tosti, then the automobile. You must not think that Capri is usually this dangerous!”

“No, indeed, signor, I don’t." She gave a quirky half-smile, rather bemused. "I’m not sure why, but somehow adventure never fails to find me, especially here in the Mediterranean. Do you have my camera and my pictures?”

Signor Cardini picked up a manila envelope and opened it, sliding several photos out onto the blotter on his desk. “Yes. My cousin runs the camera store on Via Funghi and he did them up for us last night.” He picked up one of them and handed it to Nikky. “From the photo, which sadly is not very clear, it does appear to be the statue that was stolen. Of course, we cannot know for certain without seeing it closer and in better light.”

Nikky stared at the rather out-of-focus picture. “Oh, dear, I was in such a hurry, no time for getting it right! Ah, well, I’m afraid Mario might have already moved it anyway. Although why he had it in plain sight like that, if it was the stolen statue, I can’t guess. Can you?”

“I have sent men up to the hostel, and sadly, yes, it is gone. I hope that it is still on the island. Mario seems to be nowhere in sight. There were two very startled young men who were eating their breakfast when we broke in, but they had not seen him since they checked in yesterday afternoon.”

Nikky sighed. “Well, at least that confirms that he is somehow mixed up in something. Also if the statue isn’t the right one, why did he need to move it? No, I’m more convinced than ever that I saw the actual statue there two days ago. The real question is, did Mario steal it for Mr. Farquhar or did Mr. F steal it for Mario? I mean, why display the thing when it might be seen by anyone? Mario might have thought that he was hiding it in plain sight, I suppose. Oh, it’s all so confusing.”

Signor Cardini gave a tight smile of agreement. “Si, signorina, it is confusing. We shall contact Interpol with a description of both Mario and the Englishman, and hopefully we will get some results soon. Meanwhile, I must urge you to take very good care. I would suggest you leave the island, but I will need you here as a witness, I am afraid. I hope that does not inconvenience you too much.”

“Not at all, Signor Cardini, I’m not on any really tight schedule, so I can stay on a bit. I’ll wire my Aunt Frances and let her know where I am, just in case.”

“Very sensible, signorina,” the policeman said, nodding approvingly. “Now I hope you can go and have a nice day of sightseeing. We will be in touch when we have more information. Now, please, be careful.”

Nikky said she would and after saying goodbye, she stepped out into the bright mid-morning sun. There was a splendid villa just outside the center of town that had belonged to a German artist, and was now open as a gallery, that she had been meaning to go see. She checked her map, got onto the scooter and headed in the direction of the Villa Falsen. 

On arriving at the villa, she found that the gallery was closed for renovation, but that the villa gardens were open, so she strolled along, looking at beautiful plants with impossibly long Latin names inscribed on tiny signs in front of them. Soon she stopped reading the plaques, finding that knowing the Latin names did not make the plants any more beautiful or interesting. There were also some lovely statues in the garden, some of them possibly ancient, but again, she couldn’t tell for sure. Besides, she was a bit off statues at the moment.

She began to get a bit hungry, so she went to the small café just down the road from the villa. She was just sitting down at an outside table when her arm was grabbed in a viselike grip and someone hissed into her ear, “Sorry, signorina Ferris, you will not be eating just now.”

She shot a look over her shoulder and saw that it was Mario. She’d thought so, and she struggled against his grip, but he merely grabbed her wrist instead and pulled it up behind her, nearly wrenching her shoulder out of its socket. She gasped in pain, as he hissed, “Not a word, not a sound, or I will hurt you very much worse. Now come with me, quietly.” He eased his grip and moved it back up to her upper arm. She tried to look natural, to keep him from hurting her, while she thought furiously, attempting to find a way to get free.

He led her to a car – the one that had been used to run her down, she noticed – and stuffed her inside the back seat. Nikky did notice that he did not bother to lock the doors, but started the engine immediately and drove off. She wondered if she dared open a door and jump out, but she didn’t have a good sense of what that would do to her at the speed the car was going.

“Where are you taking me, Mario?” She hoped to get him to talk and possibly give away his or Mr. F’s plot.

“You have seen what you should not have seen, signorina, so sadly you must be silenced. It is a pity, you are so lovely, but necessary, you see.”

“If you mean the statue, well, gosh, everyone in the hostel saw it, not just me.”

“Yes, but unlike the silly boys, you saw that it was not like the others. It is for being so smart that you must be punished. Women should not be so smart, they should be beautiful and clean the house and have babies, not be smart and notice antique statues.”

“Well, really, what absolute tosh! What century are you living in, for heaven’s sake—“

“Silence! You will not talk to me like that, girl. Soon you will suffer for your British intelligence.”

Nikky sat back, shaking her head. This wasn’t working. She needed to know if he was the boss or if it was Mr. F. Although since Mario was seemingly doing the “dirty” work of capturing her, Mr. F was the mastermind, if they were following every bad B-movie plot she’d ever heard of.

The car pulled up into the shadow of a large pine tree, next to a ramshackle gate, rusted open under a cracked plaster arch. An overgrown path led to a badly painted house, with a poorly-fitted door. Mario hauled Nikky out of the back, twisting her arm again as she tried to break free.

He shoved her hard, so that she nearly fell on the path, and she looked wildly about to see if there was a way to escape. But the gate was in a wall and the wall surrounded the house, and was too tall and smooth to easily climb. Nikky felt herself begin to despair a little, but she stopped herself with the thought that Mark would soon miss her and wonder where she was, and come looking. Hopefully not too late.

She stumbled along the cobbled path in front of Mario, and the door opened just as she got to it, revealing Mr. Farquhar. His expression was as mild and smiling as ever, until he caught sight of her. It transformed then into a grimace of horror. “No, no, Mario, why did you bring her here? They'll come looking for her, and find us for sure.”

“Take her and tie her up, you idiot, and stop whining. You make me sick. You have no courage.”

“That’s not fair, Mario, I stole the statue for you, remember. I am the finest cat burglar in Europe, you know that. I don’t do violence, Mario.”

“Then you should never have made a deal with me, Farquhar. I do violence, very well, as you know. So, you will not tie her up, I will.” He forced Nikky to a disappointingly sturdy chair, and grabbed some handy rope from the floor nearby. He was just beginning to tie her hands behind her when there was a loud click from one side. Both Nikky and Mario turned their heads to see Mr. Farquhar very steadily holding a gun, very competently pointing it at Mario.

In a voice now very calm and steady, he said, “Let her go, Mario, there’s a good chap.”

Mario snarled and made as though to lunge at Farquhar, who merely stepped nimbly back, gun still leveled at Mario’s head.

Meanwhile, Nikky took advantage of the distraction and, divesting herself of the loose rope, looked around her for something to use to knock Mario out. On a nearby couch was what looked in the dim light like a lump of wood. She grabbed it and hit Mario across the shoulders, winding him and knocking him onto the dusty floor.

“Well done, Miss Ferris. I salute you. Although, I’d be more careful with that if I was you, it’s a priceless carving by Donatello.”

Nikky looked down at the wood, to see a rather crudely beautiful ravaged face looking back at her.

“It’s a copy he made of his Mary Magdalene piece, something very rare indeed, as he only ever did that once. Best put it down, my dear, and hand me that rope so I can deal with this miscreant.”

She did as she was asked, rather dazedly, noticing, as she put down the statue on the couch, where she saw now that it had not been alone. Several statues of different kinds, but all of a similar size, lay on the couch in a row on top of pieces of cotton batting. One of them looked to be the missing statue from the hostel.

As the man who was obviously not Mr. Farquhar finished tying up Mario on the chair, Nikky turned back to him and asked, “So, all right then, you appear to be on our side. Who are you?”

“Oh, yes, I should tell you that, shouldn’t I? Matthew Smithson, of Lloyd’s Insurance. Been following after this chappie for a while now. Decided to pose as a cat burglar and art thief to get Tosti to give away his operation. I am sorry to have misled dear Charles, such a lovely man, really, and so hospitable. Luigi is a wonderful cook!” He looked wistful for a moment, one hand on his slightly rounded stomach. “I am sorry that you got involved, my dear. I did overhear you talking about the statue to young Mark, and I should have been more careful to not tell Mario you'd be at the Villa Jovis, but I never dreamed he’d go so far! Again, my very great apologies, my dear.”

Nikky thought that he might have at least warned her, but then the ways of sneaky insurance agents were apparently mysterious and bizarre. “Oh, think nothing of it, although if he’d been much rougher with my arm, I might have had you pay for my doctor bills!”

“And I would have, my dear girl, absolutely no question of it. Glad it’s not necessary, of course.”

“So what now, Mr. Smithson?” Nikky asked, looking over at Mario who was glaring silently at them over a silken gag (Mr. Smithson’s handkerchief).

“Well, we’d best get these all packed in that crate there. Then we’ll drive them back into town where we’ll stop at the police station and tell them where to find Signor Thief, here,” Smithson said, thumping Mario on the shoulder companionably. Mario struggled and let out a muffled snarl through the gag.

Nikky helped him pack them up and they carried the crate between them slowly and carefully and put it in the back seat of the car, where it just barely fit.

“Hop in, my dear.”

At the police station, Signor Cardini was stupefied by the turn of events, but as soon as he recovered he sent men off to arrest Mario. He shook Mr. Smithson’s hand rather a lot, and patted Nikky on her sore shoulder a few more times than she would have liked. But it was gratifying to have helped catch another thief. 

Nikky was just beginning to think perhaps she should start thinking about studying art history so she could become a dashing insurance agent as well, when Mark showed up. He’d gotten worried when Luigi's scooter had been found by the police with no sign of Nikky anywhere, and Signor Cardini had phoned him to let him know.

“Well, as you can see, Mark, I’ve done it again. And this time I did a lot of it on my own.”

Mark looked confused. “What have you done? Again?”

“I’ve had an adventure, and helped to catch a thief, and all in the space of a few days. And now, I am going to go back with you to the villa and eat huge amounts of Luigi’s divine cannoli and lie about in the sun, 

and do absolutely nothing else for days!”

With that, she kissed Mark soundly, and grabbing his hand, led him out of the police station to the scooter, and off they rode back to the Villa Camfordia.


End file.
